


Timing (and Space)

by interabang



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Flashbacks, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-16
Updated: 2007-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-31 11:31:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12131532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interabang/pseuds/interabang
Summary: "Zane" and Mohinder discuss Peter.  Sylar encounters Peter.





	Timing (and Space)

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during - and before - Season 1.

_Bozeman, Montana_

 

Zane was staring at the clock on the wall again. He did that often, Mohinder noticed. Along with his lengthy diatribes on existentionalism, he was prone to have discussions about time and its relativity with the professor.

Mohinder didn’t pretend to know about the laws of time and dimension, but he humored his new companion as best he could.

He unfolded his hands; after brushing a stray hair away from his own face, he smiled wryly to himself.

“What is it?”

He looked up. Zane was staring at him.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he said. “I was just thinking about one of the other... individuals I met before I came into contact with you.”

A slight hesitation - Zane’s curiosity was piqued now.

“Peter Petrelli,” Mohinder continued. “I, um... Actually met him after his brother refused to speak to me about his powers. Peter came to me at a bad time.”

A slight twitch snaked across Zane’s features, but Mohinder had turned his attention back to his shoes.

“What can they do?” Zane asked.

Mohinder sighed. “Well, Peter claimed that his brother, Nathan, possesses the power of flight. As for himself, he… Well, it’s quite extraordinary, really. I never thought it would have been possible.”

“Do go on.”

Mohinder vaguely thought that he was being given an order.

“He somehow can absorb powers from other individuals that he comes into contact with. I can’t explain it, really; when  _he_  tried to, I almost threw him out of my apartment then and there.” Mohinder let out another low, regretful sigh. “I should have listened to him.”

Zane cocked his head to the side. “What happened?”

“I told him off. He wanted me to go see someone he knew, a drug addict who can supposedly paint the future.” Mohinder chuckled weakly at this, knowing how mad the entire story sounded. “It was a disaster. I left to go to India, then came back and tried to talk to him. He...”

“Wasn’t interested?” Zane nearly whispered.

Mohinder nodded, now looking up to meet Zane’s commanding stare. “I haven’t spoken to him since.”

 

* * *

 

_Queens, New York City, 1997_

 

Peter was careful to keep a low profile. He knew that he would return home sooner or later. He always did.

But for now, he just wanted to get away.

“Fucking dipshit... shitty little…”

Turning around, Peter heard a scuffle taking place in the alley a couple of yards behind him. There was a low, steady moaning, the sound of fists connecting with skin.

And all the while, people passed by him in a steady stream.

He knew he shouldn’t have, but he peered around the edge of the hard concrete wall. He saw a large, stocky guy wailing away on someone smaller.

“Hey!” 

Peter wasn’t even aware that he had shouted; he had done it purely on instinct.

The thug turned around. He glared at this newcomer. Raising a bloody fist, he sneered, “What the hell d’ya want?!”

Peter took a step closer.

The bully almost rolled his eyes. “Oh, great. Someone wants to be a fuckin’ hero.”

Peter didn’t have to go very far, but he ran anyway. He hit the attacker with a punch to the gut.

It worked. The asshole doubled over, trying to suck in air. Peter was thankful for the combat moves his brother had taught him. He threw one knee up,  _hard._ It crunched against the asshole’s nose. His head snapped back then, blood flowing down his chin like a flood. Clasping his hand to his now mutilated face, the kid opened his eyes to look at Peter.

Who was already pulling his arm back, ready to deliver another blow.

It was obvious that the fight was over. The bully staggered away. Peter watched him run out of the alley - almost knocking into an elderly woman - then turned his attention back to the kid who was still pressed against the wall, carefully wiping his face with a handkerchief.

“Uh...” Peter found himself at a loss for words, now that the adrenaline was starting to ebb away from his blood. “Are you okay?”

At first, the other kid didn’t answer – he seemed almost ashamed to be seen this way. After a moment or two, he looked up cautiously at Peter’s face, then darted his eyes down towards the pavement.

“My glasses,” he said.

Peter bent down to pick them up. After inspecting the durable lenses, he handed them to the person who was still shrinking away from him. Peter couldn’t understand why he still looked so afraid.

“Thank you,” the kid muttered, slipping the frames onto this face. 

Peter shook his head. Then he had to push his hair out of his eyes. “It’s all right,” he said, and after a moment’s pause, he added, “I’ve been there.”

The skinny guy - Peter had thought he was younger, but when he looked at him more closely, he could see that they were about the same age - fixed his eyes upon Peter. There was an inscrutable expression on his face.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” the kid asked.

Peter shook his head, shrugging a little. “Nah. I just here came to get away for a little bit.”

The kid let out a short exhale, barely a snort, in response. “Lucky for me, I guess.”

Peter felt his face grow warm. He looked down the alley, saw some books and a bag lying some feet away from where they were standing.

Needing something to do,  he retrieved the items and handed them over to the kid, who was smoothing his jet-black hair down hurriedly.

“What’s your name?” Peter asked. The light was starting to fade.

“Gabriel.”

This was the weirdest kind of way to introduce himself. “Peter.”

Gabriel was obviously still shaken up by what he had just experienced. He looked like he had never gone through any kind of violence in his life.

“Do you go to school here?” Peter asked, knowing that he should be polite and wait until the kid pulled himself together before Peter left.

“Yes,” Gabriel said, and named some random high school Peter had never heard.

Having nothing more to say to each other, Peter tried not to look at Gabriel too much. He didn’t know why that asshole had to pick on this kid, of all people. It was pricks like that who —

“ _Peter_!”

He froze. He knew that tone of voice.

Gabriel’s eyes widened. When he saw that Peter was looking towards the street, he smiled. “You should go,” he said with a polite gesture. “Thanks for the help, again.”

“Peter Michael Petrelli, where the hell  _are_  you?”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed distractedly. He almost couldn’t believe the nerve of his own brother, that Nathan would go looking for him again when he knew Peter was perfectly  _capable_  of taking care of himself.

“You sure you don’t need anymore help?” Peter turned back around to ask Gabriel. “You want us to, y’know, get the police, or something? We could take you home, if you want.” As he spoke, he knew that Nathan wouldn’t want someone bleeding all over his leather upholstery.

Gabriel shook his head. “No, really. I’m fine.” He smiled again at Peter as he continued dabbing at his face with the cloth.

In that instant, Peter felt an immense surge of sympathy towards Gabriel. He wanted to stay, and he wanted to tell Gabriel that everything would be all right. He wanted to say that after everything crashed, sooner or later, things would go up.

Because when he looked into those eyes, he knew that Gabriel was anything but fine.

He was snapped back into reality by his brother’s voice, growing as weak as the fading sunlight. Peter waved to Gabriel quickly, then began to break into a sprint.

As Peter ran down the alley towards his brother’s trailing shouts, he thought about how Gabriel would never get the blood stains out of that sweater.

 

* * *

 

_Suresh’s Apartment, Present Day_

 

Sylar had a viselike grip on Suresh’s throat when the newcomer came running up the stairs.

Sylar faded away into the shadows, knowing exactly where to hide when the door burst open. He knew that Mohinder would be struggling too much for breath to shout anything, at least for now.

“Mohinder? It’s Peter Petrelli.”

Sylar watched him carefully. He looked on as Peter scanned the disheveled apartment, his heartbeat quick and light in Sylar’s eardrums.

 _Looking to save someone yet again, the damned fool_ , Sylar thought.  _Doesn’t he know by now that he can’t save everyone?_

He knew that he had recognized Peter from somewhere while they were at the high school in Texas. Sylar had tried to kill him when he interrupted Sylar’s plans for the cheerleader. At first, he had merely thought of Peter as some crazy bystander, another Insignificant gnat.

But there was something about that hair...

Sylar would never admit it to himself, but he had hesitated for just a moment before attempting to push Peter off of the roof. Only for a mere millisecond, but then he did it. He had been severely caught off guard when Peter grabbed onto him, pulling him down as they both plummeted to the ground.

Strangely - however, not surprisingly - enough, they had both survived the fall.

And here he was, again. Sylar’s heart pounded in anticipation; he could feel the power emanating from Petrelli.

He wanted to see Peter scared, no,  _horrified_  at the realization that his power would not last forever.

That it would soon reside within Sylar.

When Sylar saw Peter look up and finally catch sight of Mohinder, he knew that it was time.

 

* * *

 

_Interstate 80_

 

“Do you think that he could be dangerous, this... Peter Petrelli?” Zane asked, shifting around a bit in the passenger’s seat. He wasn’t clutching his head in agony anymore. He had stopped doing that miles ago.

Mohinder shrugged, his hands light on the steering wheel. “That depends. All of these abilities could have negative impacts on people. It’s really a matter of how you choose to apply your power. I highly doubt that Peter would ever actually use his own abilities on anyone with malicious intent, if that’s what you’re asking. However...”

“There  _is_  a chance that he could hurt someone.”

Mohinder allowed that, as it was exactly what he was going to say.

“Look, Zane. There’s the possibility that we could come into contact with Peter again. He very well may absorb your ability. Even so, you don’t have to worry about him.  _Sylar’s_  the one we should be worried about now.”

Zane didn’t say anything for a while. He turned to look out the window at the passing fields and trees.

Then, when Mohinder figured the conversation had ended, Zane asked, “So, if Sylar’s got all of these powers, and Peter does too, then do you think Peter could possibly help us?”

Mohinder didn’t take his eyes off the road. “You mean, do I think that he can stop Sylar?”

“Yes.”

There was another lull of silence. During it, Mohinder could see Zane staring at him intently out of his peripheral vision.

“I think that first, we need to get you somewhere safe. You may stay at my place, if you’d like. We can try to contact Peter and the others from there. Hopefully he’ll be around and willing to listen. After that —”

“— You didn’t answer my question, Mohinder.”

He sighed. “I hope that it won’t come to that, Zane. I hope that Sylar gets captured again, but in the event that Sylar and Peter were to meet now, I don’t think that Peter would survive. He’s still getting used to his abilities. However, were he to practice and develop his powers... In time, I think that he might be the  _only_  person who could stop Sylar.”

Zane settled back in his seat, looking like the answer had satisfied him.

Mohinder just kept driving.

 

* * *

 

_Kirby Plaza_

 

Sylar felt the metallic  _smack_  of Peter’s fist against his cheek.

It was brutal. Unforgiving.

Once, and then twice, and then a third one came. Sylar’s palms slapped against concrete as the universe spun around him, oblivious to his pain.

His throat tasted like rust. He could hear Peter panting behind him, preparing for another round.

Sylar laughed.

It’s all he could do then: just laugh.

This is exactly what he meant when he told Mohinder that he believed in karma.

And there - there it was, the sound of Petrelli’s beating heart.

Simply and completely, the steady thumping offended Sylar. That easy and automatic power - the exponential  _potential_  of power – had plagued his mind for days.

It was all going to end, here and now. He picked himself up off the ground, like so many times before. When he spoke his next few words to Peter, he meant every single one of them:

“I’m the hero.”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the short man with the sword was rushing at him. Sylar could see him coming, as if in slow motion, but didn’t even react. His components had malfunctioned.

He breathed as he watched the approaching blade.

As the cold steel split his organs apart, he thought:  _Maybe it is better this way._

 


End file.
